Everything
by Dizzy-Dreamer
Summary: cause you're all i want, you're all i need, you're everything, everything [MacStella]


**Disclaimer: **Don't own Mac. Or Stella for that matter. Sadly. The lyrics belong to Lifehouse (Everything).

**Notes: **This has been _taunting _me for weeks. Finally though, it's written. And I would like to thank **delga** for the beta services, and Kym, Sarah and Becs for generally rocking, and for their help. Thank you, and good... afternoon.

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**--- Everything ---**

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**i. downpour (how can i stand here with you & not be moved by you?)**

The rain mixes with her tears to the extent that she's not even sure whether or not she's even crying as she drags herself through the downpour. Her day off – a day she'd been _ordered_ to take away from her work – and it chose to rain; not that it bothers her in the slightest, she tells herself, automatically pulling herself forward, plopping one foot in front of the other; _move the other foot to meet it. Rinse and repeat._

She's drenched; her normally bouncy curls are slicked against her head and hanging heavily down her back, clinging to her already wet top. She hasn't brought a coat out with her, told herself she didn't need it (she told herself she didn't care if she caught pneumonia: he doesn't care, so why should she?) and now she's beginning to regret that choice a little. The rain is relentless, drowning out her thoughts; and she's glad for the peace it gives as her mind begins to concentrate on walking to the rhythm of the rainfall.

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**ii. calm before the storm (my purpose, my everything)**

She notices nothing abnormal as she wearily makes her way to the locker room, determined for once to actually go home and get some sleep; or at the very least, a long hot shower. A couple of day-shift lab technicians are still in their labs, some methodically running evidence through databases, some rubbing tired eyes as they slowly pack up for the night.

On her way back towards the lobby she passes Mac's office. The light is off, which is unusual at this time of night, and a small desk lamp is on: even more unusual, she notes. Peering in through the glass walls, she makes out Mac's form, curled beneath a dark blue blanket on the sofa at the back of his office.

Her knuckles stop less than an inch from the glass and she drops her hand. Ten seconds later it's on the glass, rapping hard against the cool panes. He sits up inside his sanctuary and rolls his neck; she steps in, concerned, surprisingly not shocked, and more than just a little angry. She tells him this, although not in quite so many words, and she realises – not a second after she thinks she's never heard him raise his voice – that she's never felt so scared in her entire life.

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**iii. aftermath (all i want, all i need, everything)**

She folds her arms across her chest in a futile attempt to combat the bitter chill and the icy rain, her head hanging low as her pace quickens. She has no idea of the route she's taken but she's vaguely aware that she's somewhere in Central Park West with no sign of the rain letting up anytime soon.

There aren't many people out, but she's getting odd stares from those who are: it's November and it's cold; she's wearing no coat, and only a thin top; she has no umbrella; she's soaked to the skin and in no hurry to make her way home – or anywhere else in particular, for that matter.

She hears someone call her name and for a moment she almost ignores it, walks on as if the hoarse voice didn't reach her ears, the pained tone didn't break her heart. For a moment she holds her foot mid-step, debating whether or not to go.

She stays but she doesn't turn around: she knows who the voice belongs to and she knows what he's going to say (she knows what she thinks he's going to say). He doesn't reach her; he stands six feet away and calls to her. For the most part they're alone, but she doesn't dare to look up – she's pretty sure she's actually crying, in spite of the convenient façade the rain creates.

He calls to her several times and she flinches, clenching her fists by her sides. Stubbornly, she doesn't answer and he takes this as a sign to continue. His voice is rough, she assumes he's been calling for her all over Manhattan – although when his voice cracks she realises she's not the only one who's shed tears across the city.

He tells her he's sorry and he shouldn't have snapped. He apologises for yelling at her and ordering her from his office and he tells her that more than anything, he's sorry he shattered her trust in him. He takes a breath; it's so deep she can hear the sigh from six feet away, over the sound of the rain. A step closer and he speaks again, his tone softer, his voice a whisper barely audible over the sounds of nature. He tells her he's not sorry about his feelings for her and her fists unclench instinctively. Suddenly it's chaos theory all over again, the butterflies are in her stomach as she spins around and though it only takes a second or two, it seems like forever. They close the gap between them as the storm intensifies, claps of thunder obscuring her sobbed 'I love you's and his whispered 'I'm sorry's. More tears mingle with more raindrops as they cling to each other, unsure of who's supporting who. His breath is warm on her scalp and suddenly the fact that it's mid-afternoon in the coldest November in ten years doesn't matter; all she's ever needed is right in front of her.

_(because you're all I want, you're all I need, you're everything -- everything)_


End file.
